


By Fate's Side

by Megalohdon



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: AU, Choreographer!Yuuri, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-09 04:52:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8876722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megalohdon/pseuds/Megalohdon
Summary: Yuuri Katsuki is 23 years old and in the prime of his choreography career, when a sudden poor performance by one of the skaters who contracted him causes them to subsequently retire all together and drag him into a grey mass of uncertainty. Taking a day off for himself, Yuuri takes to Ice Castle Hasetsu for some quality relaxation time, and manages to spark the curiosity of Viktor Nikiforov himself after performing his own rendition of "Stay Close to Me". The skater is drawn in, but will the dancer so easily be swayed by his proposal? Only time, determination, and a lot of work will tell.





	1. Self Proclaimed Best Friend

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first *actual* fic I have written in over four years. It's not even in the same fandom, and my writing style has changed a lot. I haven't written first person in forever, but when looking at Yuri!!! On Ice and the tone of the show and the narration itself, it made more sense to have Yuuri continue to be our (unreliable) narrator throughout this fic as well. I hope you all enjoy! If it's well received I will definitely continue it, I left in a place that would, at the least, allow me to carry on.  
> And I apologize for the length of chapter one. I got carried away, but splitting it up didn't give me the desired length for two chapters either. Hopefully, if I continue, this will be an easier read from here on out!  
> You can find me on Tumblr under Megalohdon, too ;)

December 10th, 2012.

                That was the day I met him; _The_ Viktor Nikiforov, living legend and walking God among the common rabble of men, pirouetted so smoothly into my life like a good night’s sleep during weeks of endless nightmares. He was refreshing, so poised, a man worthy of the title champion; a true master of his craft. As far as I was concerned there wasn’t much he couldn’t accomplish, his victory laden history only stretching out the possibilities he had for the future. At twenty seven, the man was an unstoppable force on the ice, and his presence off it was even more overbearing.

                Him standing before _me_ of all people, with that smile of his that twisted up like a gentle heart baring itself as a means of solidarity, was only the beginning of my future; one I wasn’t even aware I possibly could have had up until that point. It was something that had always been so far out of my grasp, not anything I could consciously wrap my mind around firmly and accept what I was doing in my life. I had a steady career, one hell of an education under my belt, and yet the darker caverns of my person echoed with a resounding emptiness that couldn’t be ignored. I loved what I did, but it wasn’t ever enough for me. I was insatiable, and the clear passion the Russian man had for his art only served to make any flushed tones on my flesh appear with a greener tint to them.

                I envied how fulfilled he was in life, this man just five years my senior. It was with that covetousness in my blood and confusion in my eyes that I backed away from him in that moment. I ran away, figuratively, from the success of a man far greater than I ever would be, and the only crime he ever committed was asking if I wanted a photograph.

                Of course I wanted a photograph, but I hadn’t made my way to the Grand Prix Finals as a fan; I hadn’t even shown up as a competitor, for what it was worth, but it wasn’t my right to take advantage of that opportunity. I hadn’t earned that sort of grace from him, I had done nothing worthy of his recognition that allowed me something as precious as photographic evidence that I had finally made it. Not even as the skater I never would be, just as a man with personal accomplishments worth noting. I was in the line of work I could pull that much off, wasn’t I? I didn’t just fly under the radar constantly, right?

                My name is Yuuri Katsuki, and at the young age of twenty four I am heralded as one of the top male choreographers in the world. Dance was always something I had been involved in, taking it upon myself to find my groove at the age of six and taking the talent I had by nature and running with it ever since; I had no trouble finding solid ground in the world of choreography and professional dance. This was the area I excelled in the most, the one thing I could say I was the most proud of. It wasn’t anything special, I had nothing exquisite about who I was personally, but I kept steady work and the people who contracted me cranked out solid results time and time again. If I had to equate my success to anything, it would be luck; nothing so driven as the raw talent Viktor had, or really any of the performers on the forefront of the spotlight.

                I’m not unfamiliar with personally performing, I’ve brought home titles of my own that were hard fought and earned, but nothing I would ever say were impressive. All I was and am, anything that I ever will be, is simply a dancer and a man with a burning fondness for ballet. Fame wasn’t made for me, and I have accepted that much as time drags on.

                I am doing what I worked towards, and what I excel at. I am healthy, I have a roof over my head that I provided myself, and the routines I put together shine when the real stars step out to show them off. They have worked their whole lives, much like myself, to be on the front lines of the industry. But even performers need their backup, the people like me. We exist in case of an emergency.

                But even emergencies can’t always be prevented, and tragic losses and fallouts still happen.

 A more decorated professional could clean up any mess brought in front of them, but under the panic of competition I not only let my performer down, but everyone close to me as well. I have higher expectations of myself, and I know what I am capable of achieving. Tweaking a performance right before show time should be _possible_ , not a fatal blow to their chances of winning. Even though it wasn’t my body carrying my vision out on the ice that night, it was my work and my mistakes that cost him his win. He fell apart in his short program and, unable to recover afterwards, took the rest of us down with him. My lazy step sequence replacements were the entire reason he had decided to retire after the Grand Prix Final was over. That overwhelming knowledge of the fact that I ended someone’s career never lifted itself from my shoulders. So, with no better ideas on how to make it up to everyone, I spent the night of the banquet packing my things alone in the room, and took the first flight back to Japan the next morning.

                Running into Viktor was just rubbing salt in the already open wound.

                No, I certainly had not earned a commencement photograph. I hadn’t earned anything up until that point.

* * *

 

                “Yuuri?”

                Quiet, inquisitive, ever hesitant of what the speaker might find, the soft voice lulls me from my slumber and I’m greeted only by the beaming grin of my kindhearted roommate from the cracked doorway in front of me, “Yeah? What’s going on, what time is it?”

                He hesitates, grin faltering for a moment before he snakes his hand inside my room to curl his thin fingers around the door frame, “Are you going to lose it again if I’m honest?” An honest answer that I deserved causes me to flinch a bit, blindly fumbling for the glasses I had folded on my bedside table before I can bring myself to sit up and further our conversation, “No, but judging by that response I can guess I won’t be happy either way.”

                “I think a good way to put it might be to just stay home from the studio today? I talked to Minako, she gets it; she isn’t going to force your hand or anything. You wouldn’t be there very long as it is.” He retreats back into the hallway a bit once I stand up and groan, displeasure seeping from my pursed lips and directed right at the stationary fan in the middle of my ceiling. It was late, I figured that much. This _would_ be a first, however, that it was so late I shouldn’t bother going in at all. I wasn’t making any progress staying at home in bed like this, but at the very least those closest to me weren’t looking to force me back into place either. This was a recovery I was supposed to have on my own terms, and as much as it pained me to admit it was taking this long, at least I felt that I was finally getting somewhere.

                My right hand presses its heel into my darkened eyes, forcing them to be a bit more alert as I breeched the wall of darkness at my doorway and made my way down the hall to the living room. “I won’t bother, then, but don’t you have somewhere to be anyways? Don’t tell me you skipped out on practice again.” He’s quick to tag along behind me, quiet and radiating silent pleasure towards my awakened presence, but doesn’t immediately respond to my line of inquiry; he just scuffs his feet against the wooden floors and averts his gaze from mine as soon as I turn to look his way.

                “I didn’t skip anything, thank you. Have some faith in me, okay? I just figured since you were staying home that I would wait until you woke up; drag you along to the Ice Castle with me for once.”

                “Why with me, exactly? I’m not your coach, you realize this, right?”

                “No, I do. Celestino knows what I’m doing today anyways, so he’s taking the day off per my request. _You_ however, are going to work with me some. The season is starting, it’s about time I worked on a new program and you’re the only person I trust for the job.”

                The watery, weeping doe eyed look really does Phichit Chulanont wonders when he wants something. Usually my resolve is thicker, seeing as I’ve been building it up for five years and counting, but the wavering desperation in his voice today only helped him in his quest. My shoulders lower, back falling forward _just_ enough to give off that ‘I-just-woke-up-what-more-do-you-want-from-me’ look I had mastered as I let the silence boil around the two of us in the middle of the room. It wasn’t a secret that I had all but formally withdrawn from any choreography jobs within the past four months, no need in my body strong enough to make me want to step back out into the line of fire just to let someone down again.

                No one else was going to take a bullet for me while performing my programs, I made sure of that, “Phichit, I told you, I’m-,”

                “Yes! You told me, I know, I do. But when the season starts you’re always there hovering over my shoulder, and I’ve grown so used to you scolding me the past five years that it’s almost ritualistic now. I at least need you there to, I don’t know, point out what I’m doing wrong? It’s like my skating rite of passage each season, dude. I can’t get anything right until I get the Katsuki seal of disproval!”

                His smile is so earnest and warm, and the eye-roll I was building up seems to slow to a crawl and I force myself to stand up straight again. In the past five years that I had known him, I had only ever choreographed one program for him, and that gave him his first gold and took him all the way to Nationals. He’s clung to the ‘good-luck-charm’ ideology regarding me, and seasons since I have always (at the very least) sat in on his first practice of the year. At this point it was an unspoken promise, and no matter how badly my body craved the cool darkness of my room, I couldn’t start breaking that now just because I hit a slump.

                So, with a dejected sigh pressing past my chapped lips, I caved, “Fine, all right. Get your stuff, we’ll head on over.” Phichit only manages to glow brighter as I reply before he’s tugging me into a bear hug; my presence there has always meant something to him. Not just from a professional standpoint looking upon his choreography, but as his friend as well. If anything, he needed my support, and I could offer that much. If I at least support him in what he does, I can’t say anyone would be let down by me, right?

                “Grab your gear, too, Yuuri. I’m going to need you out there with me since Celestino is off today!”

                “Phichit, I told you already, I’m not a skater.”

                “Sure you are! I’ve seen you skate before, I think you’re a natural. Honestly I think you stick with dance because you just have less of a chance to fall on your butt, you never gave figure skating an honest shot.”

                I wasn’t even putting up much of an argument, I had already grabbed my equipment bag from the hallway closet as he replied and was only left with his last few words as a note to dwell on while he threw his things together in his own room. No, I never did give figure skating a chance; when I was younger and had a bit more weight on me, it only took a few rounds of teasing before I settled on the fact that this piglet wasn’t quite graceful enough for the ice anyway. I took one too many spills and could never pull off the confidence needed to glide across the ice’s surface with beautiful execution time and time again. I skated in my free time, always casual and usually alone, and it wasn’t uncommon to see something I had thrown together being performed by a competitor somewhere across the globe, but it wasn’t where my talents lay. Even now, as my future remained uncertain, I knew better than to look in that direction.

                That was a sport for the likes of the bold; people like Viktor and Phichit, hell even the young Russian skater Yuri Plisetsky was born to perform on the ice. The ones who were out executing their programs and winning the medals deserved to be out there in front of their fans and on television. I was always more comfortable staying on the sidelines and cheering them all on. At the very least, as a hobbyist, I could appreciate the hard work they put into everything they did.

                “It’s just not my thing. I don’t mind indulging the call of the ice every once in a while, but my talents work best when other people show them off.”

                His expression is twisted into a look of uncomfortable disgust when he reenters the room, hamster print bag slung haphazardly on his shoulder to let me know he’s ready to go, “Yuuri, your talents are just that. Yours. Whether you’re showing them off or someone else is doesn’t matter. You could shine as bright as you wanted if you got out there and gave it your all with the confidence I know you have inside you somewhere.”

                “I never was the confident type, trust me it’s not a new development. It’s fine, really. I’m okay with how things are. It’s a bit late in the game to start skating now anyways, don’t you think?”

                “It’s _never_ too late to find something you love. Even if you don’t have confidence in yourself, just remember I have a lot of my own in you. I look for your guidance for a reason, after all. I trust your talent and reasoning just as much as I do Celestino’s. You’re both essential to my success!” I offer him the long-time waiting eye roll that was fated to fall before him at some point today before reaching an arm out to shove his head gently. He’s always so positive, even for the sake of others. It’s an admirable quality, something that shows when he skates because it helps his performances seem truly kind and genuine. He’s not a ‘fake-it-until-you-make-it’ kind of guy; it’s all completely sincere, and one hundred percent Phichit.

                “Right, yeah. Thank you for believing in me and trusting me this much. I _try_ my best not to let you down when you need me, and I’m not looking to start now. Come on, we have somewhere to be, right?”

                “Yeah! Yuuko has the place on lockdown, it’s just us, don’t worry.”

                “Good, the less people there distracting you the better.”

                As if we were synched perfectly, a chorus of laughter erupts between us as we head out of the apartment; the good mood should have been indicative of what was to come, but I chalked it up to some nice fresh April air and the warm rays of the sun rather than something so simple as fate.

* * *

 

                I don’t remember a minute of it.

                I remember coming down from the rush, and I remember skating my way out of the rink so I could collapse shamelessly on the cool concrete floors, but I don’t remember _anything_ about what had just transpired minutes before. Phichit is hovering above me, patting my back with growing concern as I lay motionless and jelly-legged on the ground; across the rink Yuuko is shouting, but it doesn’t sound bad, not really anyway. It’s more excitement, near cheers, but it’s unfamiliar to my eardrums and my face heats up at the possibility that I might have been getting praised for something I don’t even recall.

                The next person’s voice that I hear rumbling into my plane of existence was that of Takeshi, his larger hands finding purchase under my arms so he could heft me up and prop me against the walls of the rink was more unexpected than my making out him saying _“That was incredible, dude.”_

                What was?

                Phichit’s concern dies down once I am back on my feet, though the flushed tones to my face only accentuate the fact that I am out of breath, out of practice, and out of shape. I came here for guidance and got lost in the moment, released my worries and stresses in what I can only assume was one hell of a performance, and blacked out halfway through. I wasn’t bleeding, I wasn’t drunk; the only reasonable explanation I had for my current state was finding some inner peace. The last time I was able to really exist without any stress overwhelming me was before the Grand Prix Finals back in December, which was already four months passed at this point. I had been dwelling in the darkness of my own anxiety and self-doubt that I never gave myself a chance to recover from it. I couldn’t drag myself away from that already comfortable everyday normal for me, not by myself.

                That’s why he brought me here.

                “See, I told you! Amazing! You have a natural talent for these things, I really wish you branched out more to let other people see what you’re capable of,” Phichit squawks, hands clapping fast enough that I could have sworn I saw sparks flying from the friction alone. He’d burn this place down with the sheer enthusiasm he had for everything in his life, especially when it came to encouraging people close to him. “I don’t even remember _what_ I did, let alone know how good it likely wasn’t. You’re biased, you know that.”

                “No, really, he’s totally right. You looked like you were at home out there! You were absolutely flawless, Yuuri. Had you been practicing?” Always quick to startle, I jump at Yuuko’s sudden presence beside me and regain my posture again once my nerves settled back down, “What do you mean, practicing? Did it look like a routine, or something? You know I usually just throw something together when I get out there, there’s no practicing that beyond getting out there and skating.”

                She turns her head to the side just so, enough that the lifted brow on her forehead only accentuates her confusion, and she raises a curled finger to her lips while she looks you over slowly, “You really don’t have any idea what you just did, do you?”

                “No, I don’t. I’ve been stressed, you know that. It was nice to get out there and let it out. Whatever I pulled off was only a result of that. Lucky fluke, I guess?” Pushing past the three of them I grab for my guards and settle down on the bleachers, red plastic slipping over and securing itself on each blade as the hovering group around me chatters between themselves quietly. They should all know stress skating by now, if not from dealing with it themselves then observing my weekly meltdowns should do it alone. I can tell by their tones there’s more confusion lacing their words than anything, but every so often the slight inflections in Phichit’s tone marks concern, and the Nishigoris are careful not to look my way for a few moments.

                “Yuuri.”

                “Yeah?” Their looming looks of concern are nearly overpowering, enough that I sink down in my spot and rest my back on the benches behind me before chancing to meet Takeshi’s glance; if I could trust one of them to make eye contact with right now, judging by the atmosphere, it’d be him.

                “You skated a flawless performance of Viktor Nikiforov’s _Stay Close to Me_. You didn’t skip a beat, didn’t flub a jump, over rotate, or touch down. I’m not going to be the one to tell you this, but that’s not a fluke, Yuuri.”

                Yuuko’s expression is soft, kind, something that settles me for a moment before her words really start to sink in; I did _what_? And I forgot every second of it?

                “You’re kidding me.”

                “No, definitely not. I knew you were a fan from a choreography stand point, but I never thought someone casual like you would go this far as to show your appreciation.”

                Casual. Right, I was a casual skater, not a professional. Viktor’s performance really stood out to me, however, on a basis of (as they said) choreography. It was beautiful, moving. A solemn tone, longing for something more, but it never failed to inspire me to be better at what I did. On the days I took off from Minako’s studio, I’d come down to the Ice Castle and give the program a try. I spent months working on it, casually only being the goal I had in mind, but no one had ever been around to see it. I had fallen into the habit of letting go when I got onto the ice, and that wasn’t any exception today as I managed to make a complete ass out of myself regardless.

                “Oh god.”

                _I can’t believe I performed the work of Viktor Nikiforov shamelessly in front of three people and managed to completely black out._

                But I did. My eyes grow wide slowly, the realization of my error only dawning on me gradually before it hits me like a bullet train at top speed and all I know to do is let out a surprised yell. I should have more self-respect than that, perform something of my own for once and try to let people appreciate the things that I create rather than letting them ogle me over something that I use in private to keep me motivated. I doubt I’d still even be dancing if it weren’t for my personal dedication to nailing this routine from the beginning.

                It paid off, but at what cost?

                “No, Yuuri, it’s a good thing, really! You let yourself go, you relaxed some! I know exactly what you’re thinking but it’s not _that_ embarrassing, honest. Even the greats find inspiration somewhere, there’s no shame in showing everyone how they inspire you.”

                He means well, he does, and his smile is soft because he knows it’s what I need. The reassurance that I didn’t do something wrong, even though my skin is crawling; knowing that it’s not bad to idolize someone, even if they are in a league of their own. There’s no shame in looking up to people. I know that, I do. Yet, in the moment, with my fists curled tight around the fabric covering my thighs, I can’t seem to let go of my own chastising long enough to appreciate what I did. I didn’t even get the luxury of experiencing it, or witnessing me pull it off.

                All I have is their retelling and the burning ache in my lungs as they cried out for more air. The most I got out of doing this was having my body plead for me to get it back into shape. As it stood, there was no way I could perform my best as an instructor when I couldn’t even handle one routine.

                “I uh….” I swallow, eyes sliding shut as I pull myself back down from that tower of anxiety I had built in the meantime, “I should go. Home. It’s late. We’re going to need food, right?”

                “Yeah, you’re right. Its fine, no big deal! I got my work in and I think you let off some steam. It wasn’t a waste of a day by any means. I’ll go get my shoes on, then we can head back, all right?”

                I had already started unlacing my own skates before he even managed to start talking, checking myself out of the situation before it was even presented to me as an option. I was going to leave regardless of what Phichit wanted to do, I wasn’t about to hold him back from practice; but as it stood I could hardly see straight and my body was shaking. Be it anxiety or nerves, I knew it wasn’t in my best interests to push myself any more than I already had. I’d be fine.

                I’ll get home, make some dinner, and find something to read for the night. Take it easy, relax. As much as I hate myself in the now, come a few hours it won’t even be a burden on my mind. I can trust the Nishigoris not to rat me out, and at the least I’ve known Yuuko long enough that if she appreciated my performance of something that Viktor has done in the past, then I won’t hear any mockery from the two of them either.

                Phichit, on the other hand, is always a different story. Self-proclaimed best friend or not, the social media hound was unpredictable in nature and the only solution to my problem was to play it cool and keep him distracted.

                I can handle that.

* * *

 

                “Yuuri, get the door! I’m in the middle of something!”

                His voice nearly bellows down the hall, rocketing off the walls of my still dark bedroom like a stray bullet from a misfired gun. I wince when it hits me, toeing my door open completely so the light could trickle in bit by bit. _I’ll flip the switch soon,_ I remind myself, stepping past the threshold of negativity and overwhelming regret into the main space of the apartment.

                It had been twelve hours since I came home from Ice Castle Hasetsu with my meddling roommate, thirty minutes since I had woken up, and one hour since I missed six calls between Yuuko and Minako. Another day of missed work, another day of people trying to drag me out of bed. If Phichit hadn’t tried to pull me out from my castle of security this morning, I doubt it was anything serious.

                “I’ll get it, hold on!” I shout back, grabbing my phone from the kitchen counter where it charged. I expected it to be a delivery, Chulanont’s purchasing habits typically finding ways to get the best of him when it’s late at night and I’m not conscious enough to stop him being enough evidence alone to support my assumption. That, and the time. It was only nine; still early, around the time that the mail rain anyways, and not obscure enough to really strike me as odd even if it had been a specialty carrier. Another buzz at the door brings me back in, that impatient tune they force it to make cluing me in that it might be a visitor instead.

                Judging by the time, Minako makes the most sense, especially knowing that she had already called me this morning as is. She’s dragging me back into the studio and I have no more good excuses to get out of helping out today. I’ll need more time to think of something clever. Pressing my phone to my ear after dialing my voicemail, I do a quick about face and head through the living room to the front foyer before hesitating by the buzzer. The first voice that greets my stream of consciousness is Yuuko’s, rushed and apologetic with no real explanation for her frantic words. Not immediately, anyway.

                _“So sorry Yuuri…. The triplets… My account when I wasn’t looking… I didn’t know… Call me back!”_

_“Yuuri, please! It’s important.”_

Her concern raises some red flags for me, but her first voicemail was prattled out like a nervous dog, causing me to be unable to understand most of what she was trying to get across, and the second was no better for calming me down. Minako’s voice roars in like a fire in the middle of the night, demanding and powerful as always though never lacking on the side of ‘continuously-worried-about-you’ that I knew her best for.

                _“Yuuri, pick up the damn phone. Are you kidding me right now? Have you been ditching me for_ this _? Because holy shit, do we need to talk about what you’re doing as an instructor.”_

                I have no time to really settle for a moment and think about these calls before I answer the buzzing door and am greeted with a friendly, familiar face.

                “Yuuri Katsuki, yeah? It’s me! Viktor Nikiforov, subject of your inspiring rendition, no?”

                It’s April 21st, a Monday, at nine o’ five in the morning. I woke up thirty minutes ago. I grabbed my phone just two prior. At the present moment, time itself and my heart bow out of the daily performance and stop all together. I couldn’t even argue if it was him or not, I could see his silver locks on the display screen directly beneath my left index finger. I could see those clear blue skies he called his eyes peeking beneath the swayed fray, sparkling with a sort of excitement and curiosity my own muddied brown pools couldn’t dare match.

                I couldn’t breathe.

                “If you’d be okay with it, I’d like to come in.”

                He was here. So real, so close, so very aware of _me_ and who _I was._ He knew my name, where I lived, how to get here; this stubborn Russian man with an aura of pride beaming right out of him stood at my doorstep, asking for me.

                “I have a proposition for you!”

                I’m Yuuri Katsuki, and on this day in history, Viktor Nikiforov walked into my life like an unexpected typhoon and changed everything.


	2. Bet on it!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "My breathing was ragged, a shameful display of the bubbling anxiety that I felt that was far more prominent than my sweating palms and nervous twitches. 
> 
> But I was fine, right? There was no harm to fall on me here? 
> 
> All that happened was that I, no name professional choreographer, Yuuri Katsuki had danced (on ice) my own performance of my guest’s (remember: Viktor Nikiforov) Stay Close to Me, had been recorded by my long-time friend Yuuko Nishigori’s triplets, had said video uploaded onto the internet for the entire world to see (yes, including Viktor), and had the original performer of the program show up at my doorstep unannounced."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the wait, honest! The downsides of working full time in retail during the holidays is very little free time, and constant exhaustion. I want to try and keep an upload schedule of, at the minimum, once a week. I really appreciate any patience I have been given, and hey! This is the first fic that I have actually continued, so I think that's a pretty nice plus? Thank you for being here this far and I really hope you continue the journey with me. Feed back is always welcome and comments help keep me motivated! If you enjoy the fic, share it! Everything helps!
> 
> Just a few notes:
> 
> -I went back to chapter one and fixed a few things regarding the dates and timelines of the fic. If you go to the end of the chapter I added additional notes regarding this and explained the timeline and how it lines up with the canon one.  
> -I do not have a beta for this fic so mistakes happen! If you see a typo or awkward grammar/punctuation, just let me know! :) I write these for fun but I don't catch it all!
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr @ [Megalohdon](http://megalohdon.tumblr.com)

                “Do you like sugar in your coffee? Cream?” Phichit’s voice was soft and caring, the typical host he prided himself to be in situations like this which fell into the ‘unfavorable’ category. Well, unfavorable for me; he didn’t seem to really be phased or mind what was going on at the moment. His question, however, was not directed at me. No, while I stood like a scrapped sculpture a novice craftsman had thrown away in the middle of my living room, Phichit hummed to himself in the kitchen and directed his question to our guest.

                Viktor Nikiforov.

                The older man paid me no mind, which I would count as a blessing later on but had none of the willpower necessary in that moment to think that I was anything close to blessed, and held up two delicate fingers in the direction the question was raised.

                “Two cubes, if you could. No cream, though. I try not to indulge myself with coffee often, the last thing I need to do is add cream to it.”

                “I can handle two cubes of sugar, sure! Can I get you anything else while I’m up?”

                “Coffee is already enough, thank you.”

                They were in their own little world, perfect and free from the overarching embarrassment that had begun to envelop me. I’m not sure they even cared about the fact that I was standing in the middle of the floor, hands nervously holding each other for support as they shook against my stomach and knees doing an impressive job of holding myself up despite how bad they shook. Mortified was a good word, I felt, to describe the emotions overpowering my mind at that point in time. I knew they were both in the same vicinity as me, I felt their presence and their words lulled softly into my ears, but it felt more like an invasion of my space. My breathing was ragged, a shameful display of the bubbling anxiety that I felt that was far more prominent than my sweating palms and nervous twitches.

                But I was fine, right? There was no harm to fall on me here?

                All that happened was that I, no name professional choreographer, Yuuri Katsuki had danced (on ice) my own performance of my guest’s (remember: _Viktor Nikiforov_ ) Stay Close to Me, had been recorded by my long-time friend Yuuko Nishigori’s triplets, had said video uploaded onto the internet for the entire world to see (yes, including _Viktor_ ), and had the original performer of the program show up at my doorstep unannounced.

                _“I have a proposition for you!”_

                I brought myself back to my senses, enough that I could lower myself to sit comfortably in the floor while I held my gaze to the wall behind the couch where Viktor sat, and idly appreciate the white noise Phichit offered by brewing up some coffee for the three of us.

                “Proposition…” I whispered, my own shaking fingers reaching up to brush across my lips as if they were shocked I had even managed to say anything at all. Hell, I hadn’t really known I had vocally voiced any of my thoughts until I had Viktor’s attention drawn to me once more. I could feel his glacial stare boring into my face, running over each of my flushed features as I stared right at the wall beside him. Unmoving, unwilling, unapologetically ashamed.

                “Yes! A proposition. After all, you already know I had seen your video. Why else would I be here?”

                “I really don’t think you want me to answer that,” I mutter, finally drawing my own muddied pools to match his gaze, and I’m met with the inquisitive look of a man who managed to find himself lost behind the folly of my statement, “Perhaps not,” he breathes, turning to thank Phichit as a steaming mug was offered out to him, “but what you think brought me here does not change the truth. I feel you won’t be as quick as you think you might be to run away once you hear me out.”

                One of the first things I had noticed about Viktor Nikiforov in the Flesh ™ was that the soft edges of his smile, when genuine, always curved to form a gentle heart. It was something that brought my mind peace, a silent extension of an olive branch between my anxiety and his sincerity. He came here for me, whether I believed it or not. I didn’t have to accept the truth as it was, but I had to at least acknowledge that it existed, and as it stood Viktor didn’t show up at my apartment with any ill will or malicious intent.

                “What’s there to hear out? Or, rather, what could you possibly have come up with that makes my participation in it necessary?” My words disturb the steam rising from my own cup of liquid energy, cream filled and topped with three sugars to the point that even calling it coffee anymore would be blasphemy on its own. Viktor smiles again, both with his lips and his eyes, and takes a long swig of his beverage before humoring me with a reply, “A lot, of course! I wouldn’t have put my training on hold to fly to Japan overnight for nothing, you know.”

                That’s when it hits me.

                I nearly drop my mug when he talks about having halted his training schedule to come here and talk to me, especially under the pretense knowing that I could very well just say no to whatever he was planning to ask of me. He put his whole career on hold and on the line simply because I caught his eye. The color forming on my cheeks was something I couldn’t blame on the cold weather, and if I tried to look away it’d make the flustered mess inside my chest all the more obvious, so instead I glance over to Phichit nervously to seek solace in his familiar features. My only problem was assuming he wouldn’t have been glued to his phone when I did it.

                I retreated back into my shell, hunkering down a bit more as I shifted in my spot on the floor to take some of my weight off my knees, “Viktor, I don’t, ah, know what you saw when you watched that video, but I promise whatever it was that made you come to Hasetsu and put your training on hold was definitely an illusion.” My hands flexed around the warm ceramic, right index finger tapping nervously at the rim as I drove my gaze back down into the floor. This was definitely some joke, I knew it, I just had to wait for the camera crew and host to jump out of my closet and yell “Got ‘im!”

                Instead of the immediate prank closure I sought, I heard Viktor shuffle a bit before his hands unmistakably found purchase on the wood of our coffee table to most certainly hold up his weight. I didn’t look up, I felt how close his face was to mine. I felt his coffee warmed breath on my face, the scent of his cologne washing over me like a refreshing splash of cool water. I sensed him, hovering and curious, all soft smiles and genuine pleas as he closed the distance and pressed his forehead to mine.

                I stopped breathing.

                “I saw potential, Yuuri. There was no illusion, I do not take you for a magician anyways. Not on ice. Not with your movements. You are genuine, a performer. The way your body moves with the music tells a story, one that I can’t pull off. That was my routine, but I know what it lacked. You.”

                I’m quick to scoot backwards into our entertainment center, left arm anchored across the top as it held me in place while I stared down the living, breathing legend in my home that held himself up with two sturdy arms on my coffee table. He seemed perplexed, head lolled to the side as he observed me, and I couldn’t help but catch Phichit’s stare out of the corner of my eye as he kept himself rooted in his seat. This was good content for a blog post later, I knew that, he wasn’t going to tear his eyes away now or say something to ruin the moment. That was my job, after all. “Me? I’m not even a skater, Viktor, I just-just practice in my free time. I choreograph programs, I don’t perform them. I, ah, think you’ve mistaken me for someone I’m not.”

                “Nonsense!” His voice is loud and sure, his facial features twisted into a look of disbelief as I huddled into myself more and he swung his long legs over the expanse of the table before taking seat on the edge of it. His coffee had been long forgotten, but I gave it the recognition it deserved by training my eyes on the mug that had previously been in his grasp instead of focusing on him. “I am familiar with your work, Yuuri. I know who you are! You are quite the genius when it comes to choreography, but I wasn’t aware you could move quite like that.”

                He’s proud of me, I can hear the warmth of his emotions blanketing his words as he talks, and his expression gradually softens as he carries on a nearly one sided argument as to why I was most assuredly wrong. My heart twisted in the cavity of my chest, an overwhelming sense of gratitude taking form as I looked away from the gawking Thai man back to the Russian seated proudly on my table. Not just any Russian, mind you, but _the_ Russian, their figure skating hero and general idol for the sport internationally. Five time world champion with just as many Grand Prix Final championships under his belt, a man with innumerable European Division victories, who had crawled his way to the top of the Figure Skating world at the age of sixteen and never looked back.

                A man who was named Viktor Nikiforov, and had found inspiration in the moves I produced enough to put his life on hold to attempt to make a deal with me in Hasetsu.

                He also happened to be indescribably proud of what I had done.

                “That is why I am here, you see? You say you are a simple dancer, but you pulled off a routine a professional had won the World Championships with. Something I had worked towards for over twenty years. You say you’re a hobbyist, no? That you do this in your free time?”

                At most, I can only nod solemnly and avert my gaze back down to my feet since I knew nothing else in my room was safe for me to look at. It wasn’t that impressive, honestly. He had done all the hard work, put that routine together himself, and all I did was observe, memorize, and act. That wasn’t worthy of praise, he should be scolding me for having the slightest bit of audacity to bother with trying to pull that off. He should be angry with me, upset that I had even done that, let alone let it be uploaded online so I could make a fool of both of us, but he wasn’t. I don’t think, in that moment, one bone in Viktor’s body could have been anything other than honored by my performance.

                “See, if you as a hobbyist can do what it took me twenty years as a professional to manage, then I really, _truly_ , wish to see what you could do if you took on the challenge to be competitive too. That’s what drew me here, that is my proposition. If you’ll have me, Yuuri, I would be honored to help be the coach that guides you to greatness.”

                At some point, and I don’t recall how immediate it was exactly, I lost all sense of my footing in the world and decidedly passed out right there on the floor.

* * *

 

                “I didn’t mean to startle him, I promise…” A hushed voice drew me back in, accented and upset and absolutely belonging to Viktor. I felt Phichit’s soft hands on my forearm, one holding it in place and the other seemingly wrapping a bandage around it gently as he hummed in response to Viktor’s words, “No, I know! He gets jumpy when he’s anxious, but I know it wasn’t your fault. It’s not like we expected him to pass out and spill his coffee on himself.”

                “Well, yes, but that doesn’t make me feel _better_ that it happened. Will he be okay?”

                “Oh, yeah, it’s not the first time he’s done this! The coffee was hot, but not scalding! It’s a minor first degree burn, he’ll be okay soon enough. Don’t you worry! I’m not only his best friend, but I also function as his live in nurse. A blessing and a curse!”

                My eyes peel open to see Phichit tilting his head to the side with a smile, finishing up the bandaging of my wound before quickly moving to put everything back in our frequently used first aid kit. Viktor is to his side, right beside my head as I lay quietly on the couch, his left hand resting beside the right side of my face. A small act of comfort, something so mindless I doubted he would be aware he was doing it, but it brought about an incredible warmth in me that was hard to suffocate, especially after having only recently roused again.

                “Phichit…” I breathed, lips parting with a soft pop and my dear friend turned to look at me with that signature twinkle in his eye, “Yuuri! Welcome back to the land of the living! Did you enjoy your trip back to the land of darkness?” His voice has that quiet contented purr I’ve come to appreciate, something that happened only when he mocked me in the gentle way he knew how. I doubt if it was anyone else that I’d appreciate the mockery, but Phichit knew well and made sure to take care of me any time that I did manage to get overwhelmed, so I never could find it in myself to be bothered by his banter.

                “Not a bit. Some asshole spilled his coffee on me, apparently.” My lips quirked up into a smile as my quiet retort gave comfort to both of the people at my side; I could swear on anything you asked me to that I saw Viktor visibly deflate from his bubbling anxious state he had previously settled into. They don’t force me to stay down when I move to sit myself back up, instead, Phichit offers me a glass of water and Viktor takes the newly freed space on the couch as an opportunity to sidle up to me like an old friend might after being apart from each other for a good year.

                “I shall formally apologize for having surprised you. I may be the asshole, but I promise it wasn’t _my_ coffee.”

                I snort.

                “No, no. Relax, I’m _definitely_ the asshole in this scenario, trust me. I didn’t mean to make you worry, Jesus. You only came out here to ask me a question, not deal with this.” I punctuated my words with the gentle swaying of my bandaged arm in front of me, and I caught Viktor’s glance shifting from my face to the appendage with slight hesitance, “Don’t worry, it’s not that bad. Honest.”

                “Well it won’t hurt me to take this opportunity to start trusting you, Yuuri, so don’t let me down, okay? Did you think about my offer any, or were you perhaps distracted by your friends in this so called ‘land of the darkness’?” His words have a hinted and implied smile curving around them, a friendly tone behind a serious inquiry and it’s enough to draw my eyes back off of him and down to the hands he had folded in his lap.

_Smooth. Delicate. Sculpted works of art that expressed such great emotions and drew the audience in with such grace that not even I could look away. His fingers extended in invitation with each performance he gave. His hands were the entry point for his performance, they were his way of asking the audience to join him, to become vulnerable and feel with him. It wasn’t just his moves or technical abilities that got him this far, it was the way he reached out and went for glory that helped settle him into the living legend category._

He sees that I’m distracted long enough to draw out an awkward silence between us and takes it upon himself to raise one of the objects my eyes have locked on to my face. It’s a few gentle pats he delivers, ever curious globes of ice staring at me with just an etching of concern as he questions my silence, “Yuuri, are you feeling all right? I can take back the darkness bit if that upsets you, I was only making light of the situation. Do you need to rest more?”

                “No! No, no, I’m fine, really. I’m… fine. Just distracted, I guess. You caught me off guard with the whole, you know, offering to be my coach thing.” The way his face lights up is almost reminiscent of the slow crawl the lights on a Christmas tree have when they’re first plugged in for the holiday season. It’s gradual, but warm, something that inadvertently draws a smile across my own face. His happiness is contagious, and for a better portion of my life I had been completely unaware to just how badly I wanted to catch it. “Are you saying yes, then?”

                “Whoa! That’s, uh. That’s not what I’m saying, sorry. Just- Just pointing out that you surprised me, was all?” The hesitance in my voice was evident, the wavering drawl my words had become accented with giving away my uncertainty about my own excuse. I didn’t buy it, I’m sure he didn’t either. Phichit had quietly settled down in the armchair angled to the left of the couch, legs drawn up in the seat with him as he observed the quiet moments Viktor and I had been sharing.

                I half expected him to proudly exclaim that he was on my side in this fight, but that wasn’t going to happen.

                “Yuuri, that’s one heck of an offer he’s making! You’re going to turn him down, especially after he came _all_ the way here and put his entire career on the line?”

                “Yes! I did that, Yuuri, remember. I have faith in you and I trust what you are capable of accomplishing. All I am asking is for you to trust in me, I can see in you the makings of a champion. You are naturally gifted, do not hide that from the world. I want you to tell your story the way _you_ know how, and I want to be the one that helps see you through it. I know you have something spectacular to tell the world.”

                I think if I tried to lie about how much my chest fluttered when he smiled I would have been both painfully obvious and even more ashamed of myself than Pinocchio. I had only just met him, but the greater part of my childhood and youth was spent watching him make history on the ice, idolizing the man that seemingly couldn’t be stopped, and I couldn’t yet bring myself to tell him to back down. He was hungry for the challenge he saw that I presented, and I was desperate enough to keep him close ( _make him real_ ) that I wasn’t going to back away.

                Instead, I issued him a challenge.

                “I don’t know what you see in me. I don’t, that’s the absolute most honest truth that I can give you, but I respect that you think I can be something. If you of all people think I have potential then I think it wouldn’t be so bad to find it.” I pause long enough to watch his glow radiate more, burning brighter with the brimming excitement he hardly contained as his balled fists raise themselves up in front of his mouth. “But, I can’t just… Accept so easily that you’d give everything up for some run of the mill dancer who created ordinary programs for extraordinary dancers. I was always out of my element, and putting me in the limelight won’t change that.”

                His expression falters a bit, that excitement I had brought to him just moments prior practically left his body in one visible puff of defeat. I wondered if I had broken his heart, the way the disappointment in his eyes crept up like a shadow in the early hours of the morning as the sun rose, so I offered him a smile of my own that couldn’t even begin to equate to the beauty that radiated off of his.

                In a league of his own, Viktor was truly something else. That was not something I could ever begin to deny.

                “Relax. I’m not turning you down. Not exactly, anyway?”

                “Yuuri, I hate to tell you this but it definitely sounded like you were turning him down.” Phichit’s comment after a long silence has both myself and Viktor turning our heads to glance at him. “Do you have something else in mind then? I mean, if you’re not rejecting the offer that’s really all you have left to give him, you know.”

                “I do, actually.”

                “Oh?” Viktor’s voice is hushed, almost a whisper yet lacking the tentative nature of one, a sort of hesitance in his eyes that I hadn’t ever seen from him before. Something I had elicited from him.

                “Oh, yes.”

* * *

 

                _“Yuuri! Oh, God, I am so sorry about the video. I really had no idea, but when you didn’t call me back I was sure you were mad about it.”_

“Don’t sweat it, Yuuko. They’re kids, I get it. I ah, honestly can’t really hold it against them anymore as it stands anyway, so there’s that.”

                “ _What do you mean? Did something happen?”_

                I pause for a moment, halting from belting out a reply only long enough to peek my head over my shoulder to eyeball both my best friend and figure skating idol as they beamed expectantly at me. I knew what they wanted, all I was doing at this point was dragging it out. It’s not like I didn’t know what Yuuko’s response was going to be anyway, why was I stalling?

                “Ah, no. Not really, anyway? Uh, I did have a favor to ask, though. If that’s okay?”

                _“Sure, Yuuri. What’s up? How can I help?”_

I wasn’t looking at them anymore, but I could _feel_ their gazes on the back of my head as they gestured to nothing for me to go on. Of course; go on, get it over with _. Ask her the favor and explain when you get there. Shouldn’t be a problem! She’s your oldest friend, you know she won’t question it._

                Hopefully.

                “Can I borrow the rink for the day? I know it’s a big favor to ask, and I promise I will not only explain it to you when I get there, but I will owe you the biggest favor you could possibly imagine in return. It’s… important.”

                _“Oh. Uh, sure, no problem. We’re slow today anyways, it’s not going to hurt us any to close the place down. Are you sure nothing happened? You only ask for private time when something’s up, you know I worry about you.”_

I take a moment to exhale, the breath I didn’t know I was holding hot against my worried lips upon its exit. I wasn’t awful, no. Not by any means. I don’t think it was the best to explain to her that I needed to use the rink for Viktor and myself, though, and I doubt she’d buy it if I told her Phichit needed some time alone as well. For now, I would stretch the truth and explain when they got there. She deserved an explanation, but not over the phone. At my core I could say that I was a better man than that.

                “I know you do. I just have a lot on my mind. Need to clear my head.”

                _“Of course. You know the rink is always open to you when you need it. Come on down, I’ll take care of closing up shop in the meantime.”_

                “Thank you, Yuuko.”

                I can feel her smile through my cell, the friendly warmth she always extended to me ever since we were younger. Growing up I had wondered what would have become of us if we had, perhaps, wound up together. Would we have kept up the Ice Castle business ourselves? Or would she have gone on to perform herself, becoming something spectacular in her own right? She always had it in her, she was above and beyond most other skaters in her division when we were growing up. Now, Yuuko only steps onto the ice to help teach lessons and guide other children into their own passionate lives on the ice, and not a day goes by do I think that she regrets it.

                “ _No problem, Yuuri.”_

* * *

 

                Two flights of stairs stood between myself and the bet I had made with my want-to-be-coach, Viktor Nikiforov. Two flights of stairs between my hesitance and the explanation I hadn’t made up quite yet for Yuuko. Two flights until I would officially commit to changing my life forever (for better had yet to be determined, though I was hard pressed to counter knowing Viktor was now in it), something I wasn’t sure I could handle. Not yet, anyway. Viktor’s gaze on me burned tenderly, coaxing me to turn my head and look at him.

                “This is it, the Ice Castle you spoke of?”

                I nodded, hands fidgeting with nothing for a brief moment just before they found comfort on the straps of my backpack, “Ah, yeah. This is it, this is where I come to skate when… When I get overwhelmed or need somewhere to escape. It’s always been open to me.” He smiles at my statement, extending one long arm out before him so those thin fingers he paraded off so much could reach out and do the one thing they were good at.

                Inviting me into his world.

                “I’m so very excited. Take me inside, Yuuri. This is your sanctuary, after all.”

* * *

 

                “That’s….”

                “Yes.”

                “He’s….”

                “Yes.”

                Yuuko can’t finish any of the questions she can muster up enough for her to get anything concise out, but studying her features and just basic contextual clues of the given situation tell me everything I need to know regarding her questions. Behind me Viktor stood, soft, heart shaped smile growing by the second while he lifted an arm straight up to wave at her. He wasn’t being subtle and I couldn’t exactly lie about him now, either.

                “Hello!”

                The color on her face only deepens when she manages to wag a few fingers of hers back at him in a returned greeting.

                “Yuuko, this is Viktor. Viktor, this is Yuuko. She’s an, uh… Old friend of mine and owns this rink. She closed shop early for us.”

                “Thank you for letting us use your Ice Castle! I’m grateful for it, who knows what would have happened if there wasn’t some place local for us to go? I promise we will try not to hog it too much.”

                He winks and the wind is knocked out of both me and Yuuko, some other worldly kind of magic being the only explanation I could think if for how powerful such a simple act of flirtation could be. Then again, I noted, it _was_ Viktor, and it wasn’t too absurd to assume that anyone who had a legend wink at them might be caught off guard. For what it was worth, I was still conscious. Considering the events that had happened that morning, I was willing to very literally reach out and pat myself on the back.

                “No, no, hog it all you want. I totally get it. Are you here to work with Yuuri, then? That’s quite the shock! He usually travels for clients, not the other way around. He didn’t even tell me he was working with you! That’s one hell of a secret to be hiding. Does Minako know?”

                “It’s not…. It’s not that cut and dry. I’m not working with him! Not yet, anyways. That’s kind of why we need the rink, you see? We made a bet. We’ll be working together no matter what, but the circumstances are dependent more on who wins.”

                Yuuko blinks, slow and cautious of my words as she lets her eyes narrow just the _slightest_ bit. Maybe she was judging me, or perhaps she was searching my features for some hints of falsities in my words, but backed off when I stepped backwards into Viktor and raised my hands up in surrender, “I swear on it.

                “… What kind of bet, exactly, did you two make that landed you here?”

                “Yuuri Katsuki do not _tell me_ that Viktor Nikiforov came all the way _here_ from _Russia_ to coach _you of all people_ only to have _someone_ tell him no and challenge him to a skate off instead to figure out what the hell they were actually going to do.”

                I hadn’t even heard the door open, which in and of itself was odd considering how it had stuck itself in an open position from the sheer force Minkao had used to launch it to begin with. I went to raise my hand in the softest hello I could give her, but she raised an angry, accusatory finger at me and continued to shout despite the people around us.

                “ _Did you or did you not make a bet with Viktor Nikiforov?”_

 _“_ I-I did. Yeah. Um, it’s…”

                “You turned him _down_ to make a bet that whoever wins this self-proclaimed ‘skate off’ will get to decide the sort of professional relationship you two have?”

                Viktor places a firm hand on my shoulder, just barely towering over my now cowering form to take his place in the spotlight to speak and explain things. It wasn’t like I had done this on my own, he did agree to it, after all. “The competition and bet makes the whole thing fun! You see, if I win, I will coach Yuuri and help him win gold at the Grand Prix Finals. However, if _Yuuri_ wins,” he purrs, moving the hand on my shoulder down my arm to rub me comfortingly, “He will choreograph my next program set. No matter who comes out on top, I say this is a win win!”

                “A win win?” She questions, body slumping against the open door before she locks eyes on me and snarls. I understood, I did. I ditched her again to stay home and make bets with Viktor and didn’t even bother to tell her the good news.

                Was it good news?

                “Of course. We get to work together no matter what. Unfortunately,” he drawls, hand resting on my bicep to gently curl around the clothed muscle that flexed beneath his touch, “I hate to lose, you see, and come December it will be Yuuri on the podium, not me.”

                The look he gives me is some dangerous mix between threatening and a promise, his attempt to comfort me enough to keep me headstrong for the challenge, but enough of a warning that he wasn’t planning on rolling over and letting me take the victory that easily. We both had our sights set on a goal, the end game mutual company and a fresh working relationship.

                Viktor Nikiforov’s laugh in that exact moment was the most unsettling thing that I ever had the absolute pleasure of hearing.

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT:
> 
> I fixed the date at the very beginning of the chapter! Took some time researching timelines for the series (since it's never explicitly stated, anyways) to figure out just where we all are. Yuuri would have, presumably, failed the Sochi GPF in the 2012/2013 season. Assuming that Yuuri failed at the GPF (Dec. 6th-9th) and the went on to the Japan Figure Skating Championship and failed (Dec 20th-24th), it's safe to say that's when Yuuri's season ended (according to him)! The narrative of YOI states that Yuuri returned home to Hasetsu one year later, in March. He finished school, graduated, and ended his coaching relationship with Celestino before moving home. The timeline of events lands us in the 2014-2015 season, which is where this story takes place! So, recap, for the sake of the timeline:
> 
> Dec. 6th-9th 2012 - GPF, Fail  
> Dec. 20th-24th 2012 - Japan Figure Skating Championship, Fail  
> 2013 - Season had ended, finished up college and graduated, ended relationship with Celestino [The "one year later" comes into play here]  
> March 2014 - Yuuri returns to Hasetsu after 5 years  
> April 2014 - Viktor arrives in Hasetsu to coach Yuuri
> 
> Also, to note!
> 
> Yuuri is likely to have asked Viktor to be his coach on Dec. 9th at the Banquet (I couldn't find any set in stone evidence that the Banquet landed on the "final" day of competition, after the Gala, but it makes the most sense!)
> 
> So, for THIS story, the timeline is almost identical! Just remember, Yuuri choreographed the routine for the failed figure skater in the 2012-2013 year, which subsequently wound up with him taking a break from choreographing anything for over a year after they had failed at nationals. He still finished school and graduated, then moved back home (with Phichit and Celestino in tow for a temporary stay) to find some footing there. He helps Minako at her studio teach younger students when he bothers to come in, and still gives his family a hand around at Yu-Topia whenever they need it. He's still finding himself.
> 
> Or, he was, until Viktor showed up and found him first.


End file.
